


With You, I'm Okay

by Obviously_Sherlocked_Anya



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: John is Beautiful, M/M, MINOR DESCRIPTIONS OF VIOLENCE, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Post-Reichenbach, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Safety, Short, Torture, drabble-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 13:58:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2350901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obviously_Sherlocked_Anya/pseuds/Obviously_Sherlocked_Anya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock can't escape his past, but he can appreciate his present. And that's the important bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With You, I'm Okay

_Fluid pooled beneath his chin. Blood? Too thin, no. Couldn’t be ejaculate, either, he’d been left alone for a good chunk of time. Saliva, then. It dribbled and plopped down after trembling in the air by a slim strand connecting it to his skin._

“Sherlock?”

_His tattered clothing weighed down on his tattered body, the rips in the fabrics solid indicators of the whip(s?) that had branded him._

“Sherlock? Sherlock, can you hear me?”

_John? Oh, John. Sweet, ever-lasting, ethereal John Watson. Boy, was he a shining light in times like this. Sherlock felt all five of his senses heighten to the simple thought of the good doctor. Of soothing, thick wool jumpers; of steamy morning cuppas with a pinch of extra sugar; of a kindling fire and a magical realm of hobbits and wizards and evil rings and a baritone rich as honey telling the tale; of those small hands enfolding his own, of those thin lips brushing tender kisses to his bony knuckles. John was his light, his life in this swarm of death and pain and wreckage. He was safety, he was sweet dreams, he was the happiness of true love._

“Sherlock!”

That’s when he awoke. His eyes snapped open, but his eyelids felt heavy, and wet. He was crying..? There was a warmth on his left cheek, then it appeared on his right, also. Fingertips stroked his temples, thumbs wiped away his tears. John? John, yes, undoubtedly. Ah, that’s right. He wasn’t in the chambers anymore, he was home.

There were no more cracks of a whip, no more rusty chains, no more hair-yanking and unintelligible slurs as he fought with and spread open for.

John didn’t speak to him, but Sherlock felt himself being embraced, tight. John’s arms were sturdy, and he felt obligated, and honoured, to return the gesture. His head was dizzy, teetering between tender and torture, but he was okay. John was here. He was home.

With John, anywhere was home. 


End file.
